


August

by Arcwin



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cicadas, Ficlet, Hot (literally), M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prompt Fic, Prose Poem, Sweaty summer night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 05:33:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15857238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arcwin/pseuds/Arcwin
Summary: Lestrade decides that if he has to be this sweaty, it's going to be for a good f***ing reason, dammit.





	August

It was August, and the cicadas screamed. The very air clung to every surface, sticky sweet dampness coating them in an oil-slick sheen. Nothing moved--not even us--the effort being greater than any reward.

“You're hot,” Gregory said.

“Clearly,” I replied. “So are you. What of it?”

A slow, dismissive head shake was all I received. Then, a few lazy blinks, the heat so thick that we could have been sleeping, ensconced in a hazy dream.

The clock ticked dutifully onward, ignorant, as sweat beaded above my upper lip and rolled down my forehead. Outside, the stars themselves seemed exhausted, blanketed in a high, dark haze while the wind took the night off.

Nothing moved.

Not even us.

Nothing except the cicadas, screaming into the thick, black night.

And then--

“I meant…,” he started, swiping the back of his hand across his forehead, his silver hair wet-black.

He meant something else. Something beyond the obvious. Something that my heat-addled brain didn’t catch at first. He meant--

“I’m bad at this.”

I knew what he meant, and had my heart not been sluggish right along with the wind it might have danced with adrenaline. But this night was not a dancing night, no. This night was a slow, shuffling night. A night that paused frequently, and considered its purpose. A thick, sweaty, sticky night where nothing moved.

Until _he_ did.

He rose, eyes trapping my own, then crossed the gap between us in three cautious steps. “I’m bad at this,” he repeated, his voice a mere murmur as he gazed down with half-lidded, sleepy eyes.

“So am I,” I replied.

“Do you--” he asked without asking while his body leaned closer.

“Yes,” I whispered, settling back into my chair. His hands, questing and serious, swept back my damp hair before resting on my shoulders. I could hear in the muggy stillness as his breath caught in his throat, a gasp that filled the space between us and said more than his few words. Then, there was a knee between my own and a torso enveloping me as strong hands pulled me into the cocoon of his body and chapped lips hovered near mine with uncertainty.

Time paused.

A drop bubbled on the surface of his sweat-slick skin as we breathed, sharing the hot air between us. The droplet rolled down his forehead, between his eyes as black as the summer night, before trailing down to the point of his nose and hovering, suspended. He blinked, another idle, heat-filled slide of lids, and the drop fell onto my cheek.

Outside, the cicadas screamed while I grasped handfuls of his shirt and yanked him to me, eager to fill the void and desperate to _have_ him. Our mouths, open and gasping, connected with hunger while he sank down onto my lap with an animalistic moan. In the moment that followed the world relaxed, tension seeping from my body as it melted against his. My tongue moved lazily along the inside of his mouth while a rough hand wrapped around my jaw and throat with gentle possession.

This was not a dancing night as we pressed into each other, hot bodies clinging together with unhurried need. There was purpose this night. There were pauses this night.

“Mycroft, are you...you sure?” Gregory asked, breathless while his forehead stuck to mine and his hands stilled under my jaw. The thudding of his heart against my chest drilled into my core, curling low in my abdomen and opening areas inside me I worked so hard to keep hidden. My ribs expanded, making space for this forbidden feeling once more.

It was August, and my body screamed for him in the damp night right along with the cicadas. _Screamed_ for everything hidden by the blackness.

“Now,” I commanded. “ _Now_ ,” I pleaded. _“_ ** _Now_** _,”_ I begged, my hands seeking the hem of his shirt.

“ ** _Now_** ,” he growled in return, hands tightening around the base of my neck and drawing me to him. His mouth, sweet and firm, captured mine with new urgency while he pressed himself upon me, around me, _inside_ my very skin. My hands found what they were questing for under his shirt, palms flattened and sliding up the sweat slick of his abdomen while our lips moved to say every word that was needed without making a sound. We explored for a moment longer, breathing light into those dark spaces between ribs, before he pulled away to stand.

My heart pounded in my ears as I stared, unblinking and blurry-eyed, at him in front of me. Wordlessly he reached out. An invitation.

I could not refuse.

The hallway, lit only at its entrance by the yellow spill from a nearby lamp, beckoned us forward into its heat. We both knew what awaited us in the black at the end of the tunnel, and we surged towards it with heady expectation, our hands interlaced and our feet purpose-driven. As we emerged, Gregory turned and wrapped himself around me, hands roaming and tongue lapping at my throat. “ _Christ_ ,” he murmured, molding the rigid lines of his body against mine while tasting the salt of my skin. Careful hands came between us, loosening my tie with a single finger hooked above the knot, the silk sliding with a rasp. Button after button came undone next, and then my sweat-damp shirt was falling off my shoulders and down to the floor. Something deep in my brain surfaced, overtaking my measured self-control, and his shirt soon joined mine in a puddle at our feet.

Belts and trousers and pants followed, joining the pile on the floor, and then, we paused, chests heaving and muscles taut with anticipation. I was unashamed as my eyes roved over his body, noticing and keeping the details for my own.

It was August, and the cicadas screamed, and he was _beautiful_.

We fell in an uncoordinated dance onto the mattress, Gregory's hand sweeping the unnecessary sheets away as he tumbled on top of me with a deep groan. Our movements were a contradiction, languid and smooth yet rough in our urgency. The heat around us, between us, _inside_ us burned as our skin touched, feverishly seeking friction.

His calloused palm ghosted over the downy hairs on my stomach, causing the muscles to ripple in an involuntary shudder as I gasped into his ear. Gregory’s forehead rested against my cheek as he held us together, one hand between us while the other wrapped around the base of my neck, _squeezing_ , his panting breath hot and damp on my skin. Our legs were tangled, their coarse hairs rubbing while we pressed against each other. His moans, _oh, his_ **_moans_** , were utterly wanton and delicious, abandoning his earlier claim of inexperience.

As his strokes quickened, my hands needed an anchor, and they found it in the dripping strands of his silvery hair and at his back, fingers curled around his shoulder blade. Nothing else moved--not the heat, or the dark, or the haze, or the cicadas.

Nothing moved

 _Except_ us.

Skin against skin, sweat-slick and full of fire and moving without thinking, we _moved_ , and it was--

**_Christ._ **

I felt the low throb in my abdomen as blood surged through my veins, every nerve alight and tingling as he held us both, suspended and gasping and _needing_.

 _“Now,”_ I begged, feeling a drop of his sweat trickle down my forehead. “ _Please,_ just--”

There was a low, instinctive growl in my ear, and then--

We tumbled, our bodies curling in on each other with white-hot, sticky sweet relief, our cries piercing the night. Every muscle spasmed uncontrollably until exhausted, quivering and twitching with the aftershocks. Gregory collapsed, boneless and drenched, on top of me, chest heaving and heart pounding with mine. We laid entangled for the space of several moments, inhaling the musky scents of sweat and sex as our bodies cooled.

With a grunt, he placed both hands flat on the mattress next to my chest and pushed himself off, rolling to my side. A clammy palm found mine, heat-swollen fingers lacing clumsily together while our breaths slowed, out of sync yet connected.

My lids grew heavy. The hot, black air closed in on us as we lay, side by side, listening to the quieting sounds of the night. Sleep crept over our lax forms, claiming us for her own. Neither of us dared to resist her.

It was August, and the cicadas screamed.

Nothing moved.

Not even us.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed my foray into a totally new style for me. Leave me a comment or kudos, or message me on tumblr @Arcwin1. Thanks for reading and take care!


End file.
